


Everlong

by xoTheMonsterYouMade



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, M/M, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7344742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoTheMonsterYouMade/pseuds/xoTheMonsterYouMade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come down... And waste away with me...<br/>Down with me...<br/>Slow how<br/>You wanted it to be...<br/>I'm over my head<br/>Out of her head<br/>She sang...</p>
<p>And I wonder<br/>When I sing along with you<br/>If everything could ever feel this real forever<br/>If anything could ever be this good again<br/>The only thing I'll ever ask of you<br/>You gotta promise not to stop when I say when<br/>she sang..."</p>
<p>--- Everlong by Foo Fighters</p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
<p>In which Frank is kinda hopelessly confused about life, and feeling absolutely dreadful.<br/>Everything is so chaotic, in the worst way possible.<br/>Until one day, when dear chaos delivers a particular being to Frank's door.<br/>And maybe Frank is way too lonely to give a damn about where this being came from, or what it's intents are.<br/>All he wants for now is to have someone just waste away with him.<br/>Nothing more, and nothing less.</p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everlong

The night time.

It's the most haunting dreary moment of the day. Its when the lights of homes flicker out, the air is polluted with the stench of drug fumes, and the nocturnal truths awaken from their many nooks and crannies. Drunk mouths spit out sober thoughts, and the whispers of something out of this realm of comprehension can be heard if you just concentrate hard enough.

Frank Iero isn't concentrating hard. Not hard at all. He's scrambling to, but of course he can't, because that's what this stupid damn ADHD disorder does. He can't keep still, he can't focus on his homework for shit, and not to mention he's otherwise overly paranoid about twenty million things that the common human would most likely find absolutely preposterous. Or at least, he thinks they'd think that anyway.

So Frank sits on his bed, a toppled tower of papers surrounding him.

He's flat out pissed with everything at the moment.

His grades are slipping, his friends that he thought recovered from their shit were relapsing, and he got fired from his actually decent job at the record store for cussing out a homophobic customer.

Basically, everything is falling down on Frank Iero like a bunch of bricks. The thought of a good smoke is tempting him, that god damn devil on his shoulder hissing sweet things about how it'll help him relax and let stress go. He's been clean off his possibly cancerous habit for a couple months now. Usually he can ignore the craving, by writing songs or playing his beloved guitar he calls Pansy. But he's tried that, and he's currently trying to actually be productive, but nothing is working. Nothing is working, and his thoughts are running at a million miles per hour, and Frank really just fucking needs a smoke.

So he finally gives up, heading out to his balcony, where those familiar smokey skies greet him with open arms. The stars are just blurry specks, the pollution of the city dimming their bright lights.

Under the cushion of the cheap lawn chair, lies Frank's emergency stash of cigarettes. He quickly snatches the small package from under there, fumbling with the black lighter in his pocket. He brings the death stick to his lips, sighing sadly as he inhales what would be the end of his recovering streak.

It's not only the fact that he's relapsing, but it's also that Frank himself is just flat out lonely. This is what his life has become, a cycle of the same routines and the same classes every day. For what? Frank thinks that pursuing a career in music doesn't even require a college degree. To be a real musician, all you need is creativity, rawness, and a little sparkle of talent. He doesn't see most pop stars as musicians, he sees them as puppets. He doesn't want to be that. He wants to work hard, make good rock music, tour small clubs and to just... feel accomplished and happy with his life.

But his parents practically forced him into nursing school, since it is the family profession after all. His father is an E.R surgeon, and his mother is a nurse.

This isn't even what he wants to learn about. This shit won't help him at all. Hell, he's learned more about music from his druggie friends then he has from this damn school.

There is no point, and all of the people here are pretentious assholes. His few friends were found at local punk shows in shabby bars and at the record store he used to work for.

He watches the smoke from the filthy cigarette meld with the air, and he takes another puff. The nicotine helps him relax, just like that little shit on his shoulder said it would.

What he doesn't notice are that the shadows are watching him tonight with possibly malicious intent. They whisper with one another, plotting and planning.

But Frank never knows that they're there, he's too preoccupied with his own thoughts. And it's such a shame, because maybe if he would've listened closer, he could've been cautious and prevented the catastrophe soon to arrive.

Or maybe not. Because the shadows always will find you. No matter where you hide, no matter what you do. They're in the walls, the floor, the sky and the sea. They're everywhere.

Once they've got their sights set, there's no changing their minds.

~*~*~*~

It's three in the morning by the time Frank finally decides to crash.

It's only because he's taken practically everything imaginable. He's doused a few beers, swallowed some sleeping pills, and did far too many cigarettes. He wouldn't be surprised if his lungs were rotting right now. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if his body was rotting altogether right now. It's not like he eats healthy or anything. He treats it like shit. Most likely because he despises it with a passion. Why did he have to be born in this shell, out of all the ones he could've been born in? Sometimes he wishes he was a snail or something, so he could just take this body off when it was getting too snug and suffocating.

Then, of course he'd get a brand new one.

Frank stumbles over to the light switch, flipping it over. Groaning, he mumbles some drunken nonsense before just barely flopping onto the uncomfortable springy bed.

He thinks he'll fall asleep fast. But of course he doesn't. Nothing ever is quite that simple for him, is it?

Frank stares into pure darkness. It's black, all around him. He's not scared at all, oh no. Even as the worst feeling begins to grow in his gut, and slowly climb up his spine, sending shivers down his body. He thinks it's just the alcohol, that he might end up vomiting soon. That has to be it, it must be. He's not scared of the dark. It's actually a lot more like home than it is hell.

But he starts to hear whispers. All around him. It's the drugs, it's the fucking drugs. It's got to be.

Or maybe he's slipping into a dream. Maybe his body will finally give in and let him sleep. And he'll dream about finally accomplishing his goal of being a rad underground rock star.

Or maybe that dream could be another one of his bloody gory nightmares.

It seems more like one of those now, as Frank's eyes start to dart around the lightless room. The voices get louder and louder, but yet they're still just hisses.

Almost like bugs. Little parasites that'll eat you alive.

The thought of that causes Frank to impulsively scratch at his arms. Scabs have formed from past injuries, and Frank keeps scratching and scratching them, to the point where they finally break back open and bleed.

With the breaking of the skin, the whispers abruptly stop.

Frank squeaks weakly in pain. But he's too exhausted to get up and find his way around, nonetheless attempt to find something that'll specifically help stop the bleeding.

So Frank continues laying there, desperately trying to wipe the little bits of blood off of his arms.

But after a moment, a lone figure appears, almost camouflaged by the darkness. It's almost like he IS the embodiment of that, darkness itself. The only thing you can see is the paleness of his skin. Its white like the freshly fallen snow.

You can't even see his eyes. They're black holes drilled into his otherwise flawless skin.

Frank definitely thinks he's dreaming now. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but nobody ever seems to when they're drunk as fuck.

"H-h-hi???"

Frank manages to choke out.

The figure doesn't answer. It just moves closer and closer to Frank, smirking the devil's smirk.

"Who are you? W-w-what are you doing here?"

Frank wants to move, but he's finding himself totally paralyzed. He wonders if its by the fear intertwined with strong denial totally engulfing all of his senses, or if it's by the drugs he so foolishly took.

He's surprised when the being answers,

"The night. The shadows. The monsters hiding underneath your bed. The creaks that sound through your home. The coma that claims your loved ones. I am your worst nightm--"

"You look like a Gerard,"

He just couldn't help but say that. Even somewhat terrified, Frank was still who he was when he was drunk; a total dumbass that blubbers the first thing that comes to his head.

The figure groans.

"What? I'm just saying. You look like a Gerard to me."

"Are you serious with this? Have you even heard of me?"

Frank giggles,

"No. That's why I asked you who you are you dumb dummy."

The thing, or 'Gerard', gives Frank the most incredulous look,

"Wow."

"Yeah. But whatever man, besides the fact that when I see you I automatically think 'Gerard', I also think 'this dude is scary as fuck'. I think I'm in a nightmare right now, or this is my brain's attempt at one, so just kill me already so I can dream of something nice and random. Like... ice cream or melon sharks or something."

Gerard's expression becomes unbelievably more shocked,  
"You... You actually want me to kill you?"

"Um, yeah dude, that's what I said. That's what happens in all of these icky nightmares I have. I get killed. So just get it over with already."

"Frank, I don't think you understand, you aren't dreaming."

"I have to be. Shit like this just doesn't happen in real life."

"But,"

Gerard says, his voice strained and laced with annoyance,

"It is currently happening."

"Whatever man, just do it already. If it was real life, I'd be happier dead anyway."

"Why though? I don't understand..."

"The world fucking sucks,"

Frank slurs,

"You should know this already. It sucks, reality sucks, everything sucks and I'm just done. I'm so done with it all. So. So done."

"But, life is a treasure..."

"Its not, its really not. If you were human, you'd really understand the hell I go through every day... Anyway, please, just fucking kill me already."

Gerard looks at Frank disapprovingly, shaking his head 'no'.

Frank screams,

"JUST KILL ME YOU SON OF A BITCH!!"

"Quiet down!! You fucking imbecilic hooligan..."

Gerard mutters as he sits down next to Frank. He continues in a soft tone,

"Life is a beautiful thing. I am here to snatch it with greedy hungry hands. It's how I survive. It's how my shadow kind survives. We feed off of fear. Even though you say you're scared, you actually aren't at all... so I can't feed from you. But you've seen me. Which means you know too much. Fuck, and now I'm telling you all of this, why am I telling some foolish drunk mortal all of this? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you..,"

Frank says, his eyes glazed and spacey,

"You know Gerard...You're... You're really pretty... in a creepy demonic way. Like in that one show, what is it... Supernatural? Yeah. You're hot like that one dude..."

Gerard chuckles,

"Thank you, I guess. I have never seen television before, so I wouldn't know what that being looked like."

"DUUUUUDE you're missing out on so much! TV is the best thing since like... donuts ..."

"I haven't had donuts either... I'm not human. I thought we discussed this. I haven't done or experienced any of your guys's culture or anything."

And in Gerard's voice, Frank finds something he can relate to all to well. Loneliness. Sadness. Melancholy ache. And Frank starts to think about what it would be like to live like Gerard. Just a shadow on the wall, with no friends, no music, no job. No nothing.

And that makes Frank feel deeply sympathetic.

So in the heat of the moment, Frank gets himself to sit up. He knows this might be the most stupid thing he's ever done, but he doesn't mind.

He hugs Gerard, nuzzling his face into the being's neck.

Gerard stiffens as Frank says,

"That must be horrible. I'm... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's fine. It's just... This is why you should be grateful. You have so much... And I have nothing. All I have is food to look forward to. And I didn't even get that tonight, because you're so drunk you can't even fully grasp what is going on, and you're not scared, so I can't feed..."

"You may not see it, but I am incredibly terrified."

"No you're not. You called me 'pretty' and you're currently hugging me. That doesn't fit in the definition of 'terrified' to me."

"I'm good at hiding my emotions. And I'm babble when I'm like this. And you're gorgeous."

"I can morph into something that no mortal would ever find attractive. I can morph into... Anything I please actually."

"If you really wanted to scare me, why did you come like this?"

"Usually this does the trick. But I guess this time it didn't."

Gerard glances over to the window, noticing the sun slowly starting to creep above the horizon. What should he do? He's starving, and he doesn't have enough strength to return to his original form because he hasn't fed yet. He's got to make a decision; either feed on Frank, or quickly find another victim before the world wakes up.

"Geeeeeeee,"

Frank mumbles into Gerard's neck,

"The drunk shit is going away... and my head hurts... I'm exhausted, please just... just kill me already."

"You're somewhat sober and yet you still want me to---"

"Yes... For fucks sake man... do it"

"I can feed on someone else..."

"No, no, no... Please.."

Gerard doesn't have much time left. And he had this young guy pretty much offering himself up to him...

But he's not scared. It wouldn't work.

Unless Frank is telling the truth, that he just hides shit well.

Gerard looks down at the close to passed out boy, cuddling with him.

"But Frank... You can't just waste your beautiful soul like that on me."

"No. You need this... I need this... We both win. You're... the only one... That understands me. You get me, you deserve my soul."

Frank sits up, and looks into Gerard's vast dark empty holes,

"Fuck..."

"Yeah. I have no eyes..."

"It's fine."

With that, Gerard feels the fear in Frank spike up. It smells irresistible.

With that, Gerard looses all control.

He caresses Frank's face with a shadowed claw, and the smooth skin starts to bleed.

Frank shudders in pain,

"G-g-go further... Keep going..."

He didn't even need Frank to ask.

In a moment, the two being's lips were interlocked in a what one would think is a beautiful kiss.

The blood starts to seep down Franks chin, dripping down his shirtless chest. His mouth feels like it's being ripped to shreds, like a million tiny papercuts are being sliced across his skin with every sharp touch and flick of the tongue Gerard gives.

Frank doesn't mind at all, because for the first time in awhile, he feels breathtakingly alive.

Gerard sucks the blood off his chin, which only causes more to spill. Frank reminds Gerard of a canvas, and his blood is the paint. Dripping and splattering as Gerard gives him the most pleasurable kisses he can. Because Gerard doesn't want Frank to die miserably.

Gerard peppers kisses all over Frank's jaw, and they're both reeking of blood's signature iron scent. Frank can't help but get really turned on at the sight of Gerard like this. It was sexy as hell, and Frank knew it was strange to act like this when Gerard was basically killing him. But he was killing him in the most heavenly way possible, the pain and the pleasure mixing into one oddly euphoric feeling.

Finally, Gerard gets to Frank's neck. Gerard sucks and bit at the skin, his fingers gripping onto Franks back. Frank is starting to not be able to breathe, coughing up blood every so often.

They're both smeared in the scarlet shit, and it's hard to believe that Frank is still even conscious at this point.

Speaking of that, Frank's finally starting to lose it. The world is starting to become as blurry as the stars earlier that night, and his thoughts are beginning to slow. All he can think about is how this attractive demon is granting his wishes, like some kind of genie. Granting him the best make out session in the fucking world, and finally giving him peace from his jumbled up mind.

Frank moans loudly as Gerard bites his neck one more time.

And Frank finally chokes. He can't cough the blood out anymore.

The thoughts stop, the world is non existent, and Frank Iero is finally at peace.

But Gerard is not.

Sure he's fed. But he doesn't want Frank to die.

So Gerard finds a pocket knife in Frank's jean pocket. Pulls it out, slices his own skin.

And lets the black inky blood drip into Frank's mouth.

It takes a moment or two for Frank to start swallowing.

Frank thought he was dead. How the hell is he revived, he thinks, what the fuck.

When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is his own reflection. Glaring back at him from the small mirror Gerard is holding.

And the first thing he notices, is that his once sparkling hazel eyes are now depthless holes.

~*~*~*~

It, after that, became a legend amongst the children of the neighborhood.  
It started when a little girl saw them in her room. She saw the men, and being intelligent, turned on her lamp light. This making the shadows hide away.  
These 'people' were given the title of the shadow men. And the children hypothesize that Frank was taken away by these beings.  
Because all the police found when they were called to the scene was a bloody bed.  
Little did they know, their victim was hiding in the shadows with his captor, holding clawed hands.  
And that not only was Frank 'taken' from the world by a shadow man, but he also has now become one.  
And shockingly, Frank was really happy about being one. Gerard was great company, and he was never lonely anymore.  
Plus, Gerard and him could hide in the corners and numerous shadows at concerts, getting in for free. They both love it.  
Their happiness is causing them to feed more. It's a massacre almost.  
So, this comes to show, watch out for the shadow men.  
Keep the lights on. Don't think about them. And if you do, don't be afraid.  
Because they, like sharks, can smell your fear from miles away.


End file.
